Xander
After making sure she was finally settled into sleep, I left her room and returned down the hall. A hot shower came next, the water helping to rinse off the last of the night’s tension. Even afterward, with my hair still damp against my neck, I found myself standing before the painting on my wall.
My gaze lingered on the painted emerald.
I let my fingers settle over it, its green catching the light in a way that felt almost familiar. Beneath it lay the concealed trigger. I pressed it.
A faint mechanical sound followed—soft, deliberate. The frame shifted, then eased outward as the artwork swung open, revealing the concealed passage I'd kept hidden from everyone else.
I stepped inside, and the air changed at once, carrying the faint, powdery scent of old pigments and aged fa
